


Give Me One More Chance

by Fangirlshrewt97



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Kiss, Found Family, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, I do acknowledge though that Geralt is multiple levels of screwed up, I really put Geralt through the wringer here, M/M, Monsters, Pining, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Whump, and maybe thought he was helping them both when he was actually hurting them, but I am ok with that because poor Jaskier did not deserve it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24389734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlshrewt97/pseuds/Fangirlshrewt97
Summary: After the dragon hunt, Geralt tries to cope with his actions. And misses Jaskier a lot. But refuses to deal with his feeling even when it almost kills him.Alternate title: 5 things Geralt misses about Jaskier + 1 he didn’t need to.*The story is complete*
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 121
Kudos: 531





	1. 1. His Scent

**Author's Note:**

> Dear reader,  
> I am merely borrowing the characters of the TV show to write my own version of what happens after the 'dragon hunt' episode.  
> I worked hard on this story and I really hope you all like it. If you do, please let me know what you think in the comments or through kudos!  
> I hope you all like it,  
> Thank you  
> Fangirlshrewt97

As Geralt made camp at the base of the mountain, he covered himself with his thinnest furs, despite the temperate weather. Today had been a disaster from start to finish, from his fight with Yennefer to Jaskier’s interruption. Geralt knew he was probably too harsh with his words, but he did feel justified. The rage, frustration, and most overwhelmingly, the irritating and inescapable bitch that was destiny, had been grating Geralt little by little since Cintra, nearly 15 years ago. Longer if he included Yen. Even longer if he counted Jaskier.

Sleep evaded him that night, echoes of Yen’s horrified realization and Jaskier’s hurt voices making him restless. He tossed and turned well into the dead of the night, finally flinging his furs back when there was the slightest lightening of the sky, packing up his camp. Roach was still asleep, giving Geralt pause. Just because he couldn’t sleep didn’t mean he had a right to push poor Roach that hard. Coming to a decision, Geralt placed all the packed saddle bags by her and walked away, focusing on anything but the lighter weight of his bags without Jaskier’s possessions.

He heard the rush of running water a meager distance away, so he grabbed his water skin and headed toward the sound, putting his senses to practice by classifying each scent and sound he picked up, his eyes spying near invisible trails left by the wandering of forest critters. The running water belonged to a nearly dry stream, the river bed more visible than the water. Bending to collect the water, a handkerchief fell out of his tunic, which he caught by instinct. The perfume the cloth was emitting was strong enough he didn’t need Witcher senses to know it belonged to his wayward bard. He brought the silk cloth to his nose, taking a deep breath. Underneath the harsh scent of vanilla and roses, there lay the softer scent of coconut oil and cedarwood of the bard’s soap.

He was hit with a wave of fierce longing and guilt, wanting the bard to be beside him more than he ever had. No doubt Jaskier would have been having the time of his life seeing Geralt so distraught over a stupid handkerchief of all things. Though he should probably throw the cloth away, he instead crumbled it into a tiny ball and shoved it deep into his tunic. He filled his water skin and walked back to Roach, pace faster than before. Around him the forest was beginning to wake as sunlight started to shine through the half-full branches.

Once at Roach, who thankfully was awake, he loaded her up with all the bags, transferring the incriminating cloth from his person to the bottom of one of his bags. After a second he snatched the handkerchief back out, smoothed the wrinkles, and tied it into the inside of his armor. He jumped on top of the saddle and lightly pulled her reins, encouraging her to start walking. He was a Witcher. He had walked the Path by himself alone as it was meant to be. And now he would do so again. It was the way.

///

As the days bled into weeks, and the Continent started to get colder, Geralt decided it might be a good Winter to spend at home in Kaer Morhen, away from civilization and with only the company of his brothers and Vesemir.

He resolutely did not think about a certain bard begging him year after year to describe the legendary stronghold of the Witchers, but never being presumptuous enough to ask for an invitation.

///

He had punched Lambert before he even knew what was happening, the force driving them both to a harsh landing of the courtyard. All he felt was flesh give way under the force of his blows, the bones breaking under his assault. But his ears were filled with a white ringing that normally only happened in the middle of a Hunt, vision blurry. A half-foreign white hot fury blazed through him. It took Eskel and Vesemir’s combined forces to pull him away from a bloody Lambert, who immediately rolled to the side and spit out blood. Yanking himself out of the hold the other two Witchers had, he made his way to puddle past Lambert. Crouching next to it, he gently put his hand in the puddle and pulled out the soggy item covered in mud.

“You nearly killed me over a stupid _piece of cloth_ Geralt?” Lambert said, though it came out far more garbled spoken between mouthfuls of blood.

Geralt’s glare would have reduced a lesser man to relieve himself on the spot. “It is not _stupid_.” His voice was laced with venom.

Lambert sensed the still present danger, though it took an elbow to the gut from Eskel to shut him up. Vesemir was the one who approached him, the old wolf unafraid of the pup he had helped raise.

“No it may not be stupid Geralt but it is still not a valid excuse to nearly kill your brother.” Vesemir said, no-nonsense and arguments allowed.

Geralt growled but nodded stiffly. “I am done training for today.”

“Geralt-”

“I am going to meditate in my room.” Geralt said before leaving the snow-covered courtyard and stomping to his room, not stopping until he slammed his bedroom door behind him. He leaned back against the door, trying to dispel his rage. Opening his fist, he saw the handkerchief, muddy and wet. Moving to the bowl he had in the corner of his room, he dunked the cloth, rinsing and washing it until it was clean. Months of travel and being tied into Geralt’s armor had turned the once white fabric into a musty yellow.

Wringing the cloth out, he brought it to his nose, not really concealing the whine that escaped his throat when he realized the only thing he could smell from the cloth was his own scent. It was irrational to expect the bard’s scent to linger so long, but it had been the only sensory reminder he had of Jaskier with him, and now it was gone.

He placed the handkerchief by the fire to dry, and sat heavily in front of it. Closing his eyes, he tried to meditate for a long while, but couldn’t get his thoughts to quiet down. Finally giving up, he removed all his clothes before gathering the now dry handkerchief and laying in bed, the cloth wrapped around his hand. It was only when he convinced his brain that he could smell a trace of that precious vanilla and cinnamon scent that he properly fell asleep, heart an aching weight in his chest.


	2. 2. His Voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2 as promised!

As Geralt leaves behind a Kaer Morhen that has felt colder than it had in decades, he tells himself it is not because a summer bard is not going to be waiting for him at the other side of the season. He rides Roach a little harder, asking her to put more distance with the crumbling castle each day than usual. He doesn’t really have a destination, just following the road. He comes across a werewolf in one town, takes two days to lay his trap and another to kill it. He pretends he didn’t nearly start grunting a retelling of the hunt to an empty inn room with a bed that seems too large for just one person.

He takes on more and more hunts, even if the coin is paltry or the job is too dangerous for the meager pay. It is a chance to occupy his thoughts with only his durability, a chance to focus on the bruises and cuts, scrapes of armor accumulating as he keeps toying with his own luck at survival. After nearly three months of running himself ragged, he gets too slow and is nearly burned to a crisp by a wyvern.

The only reason he survives? He landed heavily on a patch of buttercups, throwing up a giant dust of pollen in the air that makes the beast recoil, and leaving an opening for Geralt to shove his sword into. He decapitates the animal and stumbles back beside the patches of flowers. Birds start returning to their trees now that the unwelcome guest has been slain, and he hears the sounds of the forest come back. It still does not drown out the silence of a single voice he remembers too clearly.

He collects the reward for the wyvern’s head, after stripping it of anything he could use for potions, and rides out of town. There is a celebration starting up in the hamlet now that the danger to their flocks and herds has passed. He cannot but feel like their joy feels like he is being stabbed with a thousand tiny swords. He stays just long enough to take a bath though, the scent of buttercups at once too much and not enough. 

///

He hates being awake now. At least in slumber he finds a silence he can live with. Awake, he is but haunted by the absence of sound. By the absence of a nonstop chatter that nonetheless allowed the day to move quicker, by the absence of tall tales he could poke holes into and correct, by the absence of half-penned songs he could nitpick to death.

Roach gets louder, neighing and snorting, as if she can sense his need for sound, but unable to provide the one to quiet the restless Witcher.

///

“Geralt?” a voice he had not heard in nearly nine months rouses the Witcher abruptly from his sleep. He snaps his head this direction and that, trying to pinpoint where the sound came from. Was it from his dream? Geralt sinks back onto his elbows, closing his eyes and trying to will himself to sleep.

“Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes snap open. He jumps up from his bedroll, shoving his feet roughly into his boots.

“Geralt?” the voice calls out again. A voice so familiar he feels his heart start to pound in his chest. A voice he hasn’t heard in so very long.

A voice filled with fear. Geralt feels as though a bucket of cold water was poured on him.

Grabbing a sword from its sheath, he runs in the direction of the voice. It seems to be getting louder. He steps into a clearing at one point, the moon hurting his eyes with the sudden influx of brightness. Around him, he starts to hear the voice echo and bounce and multiply. Jaskier’s voice keeps crying out his name, but it is not longer filled with fear. It is filled with anger, with a laughter devoid of mirth or happiness, with a coldness that freezes him where he stands.

On his chest he feels his medallion vibrating, but the voices crowd his thoughts and he drops to his knees, life-long training the only reason his hold on the sword doesn’t slip.

“Geralt?” the voice asks. Except it isn’t just a voice anymore. It feels more solid and life like than any of the others. And when he opens his eyes, he sees Jaskier standing in front of him. In the same ruby red doublet and trousers he was wearing when Geralt cast him away. “Why did you send me away Geralt?”

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s form isn’t quite solid, and his medallion is still vibrating. Geralt knows this isn’t the real Jaskier. But oh how he longs for it to be.

The clone’s eyes start to tear up, those familiar brilliant blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“I was all alone Geralt. I was helpless.”

“No-”

“You left me alone!”

“I-”

“I couldn’t even protect myself when-” the bard’s voice choked off, a hiccup interrupting him as tears started flowing.”

“When? When what? What did you do with Jaskier?” Geralt breathed out, feeling his heart shrinking into a block of ice in his chest.

“You were supposed to keep me alive Geralt.” the clone finally said, and to Geralt’s horror, blood started to leak from its mouth, another dark stain appearing by his hip from what he could see of the opened doublet.

Around the clearing more and more clones of this bloodied Jaskier appeared, each saying the same sentence. They all started to close in on him. The one in front of him was closest and reached first, placing corpse cold hands on his neck and pressing. The others reached the pair and held Geralt down as the first clone tried to choke him. Up close, Jaskier’s beautiful blue eyes became unnaturally azure in color. His voice became more of a screech. When he grinned, the clone revealed itself to have razor sharp teeth, twisting the beautiful bard’s face into a nightmarish horror.

Yet even as the monster endeavored to choke the life out of him, Geralt managed to gather enough energy to lift the sword and stab the clone in front of him. The monster froze before it’s hold became lax, and Geralt was able to push all the clones away and stand up. Fury raced through him, igniting the parts of him that had become numb. How dare this thing use Jaskier to bait him. Letting out a yell loud enough to echo through the forest and startle a hundred birds into the sky, Geralt rushed the monster, cleaving each of the clones one after the other, cutting down these disfigured freaks. The monster realized it didn’t stand a chance and multiplied exponentially, but Geralt tore through each one. He lost himself in the swinging of his sword until all around him a battleground’s worth of corpses lay at his feet.

Breath heaving, Geralt marched to the last close alive, that was trying to claw itself away from the clearing. Grabbing it by the hair, Geralt brought it up to look into its stolen eyes.

“Where is Jaskier?”

The monster tried to pierce his choke hold with its claw. Geralt beheaded it in one fell swoop. The corpses disappeared, and this final clone’s illusion finally disappeared, leaving behind a dismembered shape shifter.

He allowed himself one minute. One minute to catch his breath. One minute to roll onto his knees and rise from the sprawl he was on on the forest floor. One minute to let all the pain he is feeling break through into an agonized scream. Distantly, he hears a wolf howl back.

Then, Geralt walked all the way to the camp, before collapsing into his bedroll again. Roach whined from where she was tied. His grip of the sword finally went slack, as tears of his own started to stream down his face unbidden.

He had been nearly killed because he missed the sound of Jaskier’s voice. In hindsight it might have been a merciful end, because then at least he wouldn’t have to deal with this clawing pain in his chest instead.


	3. 3. His Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a longer chapter, so I hope you like it! It does get angstier but I promise there is a good payoff later!  
> Ciri and Yennefer finally show up here!

Geralt did not have much time to ponder on his own cursed luck after the incident with the shapeshifter. Mere weeks later, he was in Cintra as it fell, and days later, he found his Child Surprise. He made a promise to himself as he was riding to Cintra that he would just protect her and then return her to her family after the danger had passed. But having seen the corpse of Queen Calanthe, and held Ciri’s small form against him, he knew he had a new purpose now.

Still, Ciri was a child, a princess who grew up wanting for nothing, and now she was all alone in the world stuck with a stranger destiny has assigned her. She screamed herself awake the first few nights, and Geralt did not know what to do but hold her when she sought comfort from his touch.

It had been a long time since Geralt had ever had to properly care for another human being, and he had never truly had anyone who looks to him for comfort. The last kind touch he had had, he had to pay coin for. He could hardly learn lessons on childcare based on his interactions at a brothel anyways.

He held her in his arms, ran his fingers through her hair. Those get her to stop shaking. Sometimes, he rumbled, noticing that she tucked herself closer to the vibrations. He knew a few of the lullabies and songs Jaskier had used to help comfort children they sometimes had to rescue from monster, but that was not an option. He remembered every lyric though, he just couldn't bring himself to sing Jaskier's words. His lark had never been quiet for long, and even when his scent had long faded from the memento Geralt still had inside his tunic, his melodies were forever imprinted onto Geralt’s brain. He hummed a few of the easier shanties under his breath. Ciri snuffled her nose and curled herself more tightly under his chin. After laying her out in her own bedroll, Geralt laid down nearby, still seeing the outline of her figure. The last time someone touched him to comfort him because they wanted to see if he was alright, because they genuinely cared, he payed them back by screaming that they were the cause of all his misfortunes. But each of them had led him to something invaluable had it not? He inevitably hurt all those he cared about, and the thought of somehow causing his newest charge any pain made Geralt want to vomit. His hands were made of killing not caring, how could anyone trust him to take care of such innocence?

Geralt was rarely selfish, but alone, in the dark with just the starts ad Ciri's sweet snores for company, he could admit to himself that he could no longer imagine life without Ciri. Or rather imagine it and not feel a void there. Same for Yennefer. They may not have parted with kind words, but she was still important to him, and she always would be. 

///

After almost getting accustomed to the feeling of travelling alone once again, Ciri was yet another change to the routine he had established decades ago. And a welcome one, but unpracticed. She was fierce and brave, but ultimately she was still raised in a palace, her hands still smooth and without callouses earned through work done with one’s own hands. He taught her how to gather firewood, how to find a water source, how to determine if it was clean. He spoke more with her than he could remember speaking to anyone, including -.

No. Geralt would not deny himself the truth anymore. Thinking about _him_ still hurt. Didn’t mean he would accept the pain either. Just... ignore it.

Except, he didn’t expect it to hurt even more to not think of him. Ciri asked him about his connection to her, about their destiny and how it came to be. About Yennefer. About Witcher training. About Roach. About himself.

And he told her. He told her about starting when he was a mere child, about the trials being lethal, about brothers being killed because they were not strong enough to survive. But he also told her that they were not asked to participate in the trials until they felt ready.

He told her about the purple-eyed sorceress. About the stories that had started coming out of Sodden, about a fight for the chokehold, the Nilfgardian army against a small group of mages and sorceresses. They were in a rundown inn when they hear a rumor of a witch with purple eyes who defeated an army before vanishing into smoke. Ciri tries to distract him when his face grows shuttered.

///

He didn’t tell her about Jaskier. Not about his bright clothes and merry laughter, about his endless well of impossible tales that nonetheless always made the children of any town they visited laugh. He also kept quiet about how he misses Jaskier’s fearlessness regarding touching Geralt. That was not a conversation he was prepared to have with himself even. He didn’t tell about how good a friend he was to the Witcher, and above all, he didn’t breathe a word about the guilt that eats at him a little more each day for sending the bard away.

It must be visible on him somehow though, because Ciri always wore a knowing glint when he recounted a retelling of an adventure he shared with the bard that he carefully worded to completely extract him from the story.

He told dull stories.

///

They found Yennefer six weeks into their travels. Or rather she found them. They were camping when Roach neighs at the change in the air around them, and his medallion starts to vibrate. He gathers Ciri and his swords, gives her a dagger and tells her to run in case the fight turns ugly. She had just managed to hide behind a tree when the portal opens and Yennefer steps though, looking as radiant and terrifying as always.

“Is this how you always greet friends, Witcher?” Yennefer asked, deadpan.

Geralt scented her familiar smell of lilacs and gooseberries, but the shapeshifter had a hold of his thoughts again, and he pressed his sword’s tip into her throat until he nicks her chin. She lets him.

“Satisfied?”

Still wary, he nodded. He lowered his weapon.

Then, she surprised him. Her voice was filled with genuine regret as she informed him: “Geralt. I am so sorry. Princess Cirilla was killed during the fall of Cintra. I know she was your Child Surprise, and whatever your feelings might have been about that, she was far too young to die.”

Geralt blinked at her, before snorting.

“Your informants are wrong.”

It was Yennefer’s turn to blink. This was not quite the reaction she had been expecting.

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona! Come on out!” Geralt called out, voice just a bit louder than normal. Ciri came scrambling out of her hiding place, and plastered herself to Geralt’s side.

“Fiona, I want you to meet Yennefer of Vengerburg.” Geralt told Ciri. Then looking at Yennefer, with a far more amused twinkle in his eyes: “Yennefer, I want you to meet Fiona.”

When Yen just stared he added “Also called Princess Cirilla, the Lion Cub of Cintra.”

Yennefer’s eyes widened as her jaw dropped slightly open. But she being who she was, recovers quickly and bowed and held out a hand for the young girl. Ciri squinted at her suspiciously before hesitantly extending her own hand.

“Pleasure to meet you Princess.” Yennefer adds, voice warmer than Geralt has ever heard it. Her whole countenance was softer than he remembered.

Ciri smiled, a sight that still instilled a warmth in Geralt’s core.

“Pleasure to meet you Yennefer.”

At that time, Ciri’s stomach let out a loud growl, causing her to turn pink.

“I’m so sorry!” Ciri says embarrassed.

Yennefer laughed. “What do you say I make a meal for a change? Neither a Witcher or a songbird can ever be counted on to whip up anything anyone can actually call enjoyable food. It’s all cooked enough to not be chalk or stone.”

She did not notice Geralt stiffen. Or Ciri perk up.

The excitement in her voice felt like a blade to Geralt’s heart. “Songbird? What songbird? Geralt you had a pet?”

Yennefer pauseed, frowning confusedly between them before she looks around the campground.

“Where is your songbird shadow Geralt?” Yennefer asked.

Geralt would swear his teeth were being grinded to dust in his mouth.

“Not with me anymore.”

“Geralt!” Ciri whined.

He makes the mistake of glancing at her and being caught in her doe-like gaze, stripped to his core and made to feel ashamed.

“Ciri drop it!” Geralt growled. She jumped away from him, abruptly leaving him feeling unbalanced. She looked close to tears.

“Yennefer, watch her. I am going to get us some food.” Geralt rumbled before grabbing his steel sword and dagger, and disappearing into the forest.

As he walked into the forest, he feels the dagger Ciri unintentionally embedded in his chest pierce deeper. He had not noticed until she pointed it out, but the world did seem to be getting duller.

///

The girls were resting inside Yennefer’s magic tent, on a comfortable feather bed surrounded by warmth and furs. Geralt laid outside the tent opening on his bedroll, the fabric just barely hiding the discomfort of the pebbles beneath him. He has stripped his armor, and a ways away, loosely tied to a tree, Roach was resting. He could faintly make out Yen and Ciri’s heartbeats from inside the tent.

He was tired. He has been pushing himself harder than probably advisable, even for a Witcher, but honestly, his thinking has been compromised and all his instincts were screaming at him to get his Child Surprise home to Kaer Morhen. 

He told himself the cold he felt was because of the oncoming winter, and not the small loss of Ciri inside the tent instead of beside him. He had not realized how much he missed the presence of another person in his camp until he was all alone. That what he was missing wasn't the fur cloak he had given to Ciri to protect against the bitter cold, and not the other human who used to steal the very same coat and stick his cold nose into Geralt’s bedroll when he allowed it.

///

Yennefer declared she would travel with them for a while as they made their way northward toward Kaer Morhen. Geralt believeed her but also knows that Yennefer would not stay long. She was too used to luxury for life on the road. After the first two days, Ciri warmed immensely to Yennefer, happy for another female presence after only Geralt. And one who could talk in more than grunts and stilted sentences. 

It was as he was coming back from one of his hunts that he heard them talking and decided to hide when he heard his name being mentioned.

“What was that?” Yennefer asked from where she was reading a book and adding something to a pot.

“What was the songbird?”

“Songbird?”

“When you first joined us. You asked Geralt where his songbird was. And he yelled at me?”

“Oh Ciri I don’t-”

“Please Yennefer.”

Yennefer sighed.

“There was a bard before you joined Geralt. Jaskier.”

“Jaskier? That name sounds familiar.”

“Have you heard the song ‘Toss a Coin to Your Witcher’?”

“Yes! I loved that song. Back in Cintra, this bard used to come, his name was Dandelion. He would always sing that song for me, but never in front of Grandmother. She did not like that song at all.”

“Figures.”

“What?”

“Jaskier was the bard who wrote that song. He was a good friend of Geralt’s. I guess he was the reason we met.”

“Oh?”

“Jaskier- He was injured. A Djinn attacked him. Geralt brought him to me to be healed.”

“You were friends then?”

“I wouldn’t say friends. The bard was annoying, and could not shut up. He would get involved with everyone, did not know what discretion meant. Had no sense of self-preservation.” Yennefer paused. Then she smiled sadly. “But he wasn’t all bad. He was kind. For all his insults and pettiness, Jaskier never did anything to hurt. He was loyal. To Geralt above everything.”

“He was Geralt’s friend?”

“Bestest friend in the whole world if I remember correctly.” Yennefer's voice was almost nostalgic.

“What happened?” Ciri asked, before her voice lowered to a whisper Geralt had to strain to hear. “Did he die?”

“I- I don’t know Ciri. The bastard had terrible luck of always getting into life-threatening situations, but he also had a gift to talk himself out of nearly anything.”

“Then why isn’t he with Geralt?” Ciri asked, endearingly earnest in her curiosity. 

“You are going to have to take it up with him. Now come on. This stew is almost done. Help me finish up and we can cook whatever Geralt brings back.”

Ciri thankfully dropped the subject. Geralt waited another minute before making himself walk noisily back to camp.

///

They were walking through a small town in Aerdinn, just like all the other small towns they had walked through in their journey. Completely unremarkable. But it was the first town they have come across in nearly a week without even a hint of war in the air. The population was made primarily of farmers and peasants, and though a few glanced at the peculiar group, no one stopped them. They made their way through town, and were planning on leaving after dinner when Ciri heard the sound of music coming from a tavern close by. Before either he or Yennefer could stop her, she split off from them and entered the building.

Geralt ran into the tavern behind her. The place was crowded, raucous. Ciri’s eyes were glowing, and she was practically vibrating with excitement. Yennefer came in behind him, face twisting when a couple of drunk locals bumped into her on their way out. But Geralt did not notice any of this. No. His eyes were on the troubador playing music for the crowd.

His doublet was a light green, just shiny enough to reflect the candlelight in the room. He was singing at the top of his voice, his feet leading the beat the villagers accompanied. His hair was longer, and his face had more wrinkles. His voice was more hollow that Geralt has ever heard it, despite the cheer the bard projected. Yet there he was.

His songbird. His little lark.

His Jaskier.

“Dandelion!”

The world seemed to freeze around them as electric blue eyes met ancient amber.


	4. 4. His Colours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 4!  
> I'm loving hearing from all of you about how the story is going, please keep those comments coming!

To Jaskier’s credit, the bard did not let their incredibly unexpected interruption break his stride, especially when Yennefer came to his side. No, the bard’s eyes turned stony and he turned his gaze away from him. Geralt bore every second of pain. But then,

“Dandelion!”

Ciri raced forward, dodging and zigzaging through the crowd before throwing herself at the bard, arms snapping tightly around his waist. Jaskier staggered, but stayed standing. He placed his lute on an empty space in the table in front of him before returning the hug.

“My darling.” Jaskier says, voice and eyes so full of fondness Geralt wanted to break a table.

“Bard, another song!” A villager demanded. Jaskier’s eyes dim just a bit, even if his fake smile didn’t.

“I’m so sorry my good fellow, but I’m afraid I have sung myself near hoarse this evening. I thank you all for your most generous coin, and ask you to bear with me. I will be here tomorrow as well and promise to take all requests!” Jaskier says, accompanying his declaration with an overly exaggerated bow. Ciri covered her mouth and giggled, laughing when Jaskier tilts his head and winks at her.

The villagers grumbled but accepted Jaskier’s offer. Many started to take their leave since the show was over. Jaskier spotted an empty booth in the corner, and picked up his lute before herding Ciri towards the booth. He passed by the barkeep and orders two cups of ale. He was not doing this sober.

Geralt stayed frozen until Yennefer gently bumped him. She leaned into his ear and whispered “I’m going to find me and Ciri a room at the inn. You go talk to your bard. And _fix things_.” She said before disappearing behind him.

Steeling himself, Geralt made his way over to the stall. Ciri was sitting besides Jaskier and talking a mile a minute. And she was calling him _Dandelion_. What?

Geralt squeezed himself into the opposing bench. Jaskier barely spared him a glance before taking a swing of his cup of ale. He did not pass the other cup to him.

Before he can think of what to say, Ciri finished her story to Jaskier before plastering herself to him and turned to Geralt, eyes twinkling brighter than Geralt had ever seen them. He felt his heart wrench in his chest. It was a hard battle to convince himself that his heart ached due to those twinkles and not the fond smile Jaskier was giving her.

“Geralt! This is Dandelion!” Ciri said as if that explained anything. Jaskier chuckled lowly, and dammit if Geralt did not get goosebumps over the sound.

“Oh darling one, I already know this Witcher.”

Ciri turned back to him confused. “You do?”

“Mmhmm. He knows me too, except he knows me by another name.”

“What?”

“Jaskier.” Geralt interrupts. Jaskier met him head on. His smile was flat, and his face was blank. His heartbeat gave nothing away. Geralt hated it all.

Ciri’s face twisted into a frown before her eyes widened and she whispered to Geralt “Songbird? Your songbird was Dandelion?" before turning to Jaskier and asking him " _You_ are Jaskier?”

It was difficult to say at whom she was more betrayed by. 

An emotion flashes so briefly through Jaskier’s face that if Geralt had not been focusing on it so much, he would have missed it altogether. “Songbird huh? Has the White Wolf been talking about me little one?”

Ciri hesitated, glancing at Geralt, before slowly shaking her head.

The hurt was easier to spot, the scent of it enough to nearly have Geralt throwing himself at Jaskier’s feet. The narrowness of the booth and Ciri being the only things stopping him.

“Fiona.” Geralt addressed the girl, Jaskier was still not willing to talk to him. “How do you know Jaskier?”

“I…I didn’t know him as Jaskier. He is…was? I knew him as Dandelion. And he has been coming to Cintra every year on my birthday to sing at the celebration feast. Grandmother wasn’t too fond of him, but grandfather always convinced her to allow Dandelion to be the bard of honour in the end.” she explained succinctly.

Geralt didn’t know what to do with that information. Jaskier had been keeping track of his Child Surprise? And not told him even when they were travelling together? Why did he go as Dandelion?

Jaskier stepped into the conversation. “My dearest. It is getting late, and this one does not go easy on his fellow travelers, so I am sure you must be exhausted. Do you have a room? Or-”

“Yennefer got them a room at the town inn.” Geralt stated.

Jaskier flinched at the sorceress’s name. Geralt wanted to apologize.

“But-” Ciri started to protest only to quell at both their stares. She shrunk back into her seat. Jaskier softened first. He gently reached out to pet Ciri’s hair, tucking a loose strand behind her hair. “I will be here tomorrow to dearest. Go rest.”

“Promise?” Ciri asked, voice barely audible.

Jaskier smiled fondly at her and nods. He moved his hand to the back of her neck and brought her close to press a lingering kiss to her forehead.

He then leaned his own forehead against hers. “I promise.”

Ciri made a whining noise and threw her arms around his neck for a hug before moving back, standing and smoothening out the creases in her blue cloak. The coat had long since lost the shine after weeks of travelling through forests and backwater hamlets.

“You will stay here until I come back from the inn?” Geralt asked as he rose to accompany Ciri.

He knew Jaskier would not lie to Ciri if he were to truly disappear in the night, but that was no guarantee the bard would be willing to talk to him alone.

Jaskier gave him an appraising look before giving one curt nod.

“Thank you.” Geralt said, trying to infuse as much gratitude as he could into the words. Because Jaskier saying he would be here meant Jaskier was giving him a chance to explain him. A chance to fix the mess he made.

Not wanting to keep the bard waiting too long, Geralt quickly herded Ciri to the inn with Yennefer, telling the pair not to stay awake for him. Ciri agreed easily for once, and went to get ready for bed. Yennefer caught his arm as he turned to return to the tavern. “Geralt.”

“I need to go Yen.”

“Of course you do. What I am saying is that you should be careful. Do not break that man’s heart twice.”

Geralt glances sharply at her, but Yennefer meets his gaze head on. Her violet eyes were blank, just like that day on the mountain. 

Gritting his teeth he pulled away from her and went back to the tavern. Jaskier was still at the booth like he said he would be, and despite knowing the bard wouldn’t go back on his word, seeing the familiar silhouette quelled a small part of Geralt’s brain. As he walked towards the booth and sat down, his heart pounded.

The two men just stared at each other for a long time without saying anything. Geralt focused on Jaskier’s doublet, a signature vivid colour that made him stand out in a crowd without hurting the onlooker’s eyes. Geralt felt his lips quirk in a smile as his eyes feasted on the rich dye.

The world had become so dull and colourless in this last year, and only now sitting in front of the bard himself did Geralt realize how much of his world’s colours had been given to him by Jaskier. He could not even blame him for stealing away the colors of Geralt's world. The Witcher had been the one who pushed him away. His colorful songbird, and oh how that hurt. His bard of a thousand hues, impractical outfits of every color of the rainbow, who peacocked his way into the best courts of the land, and wrong beds too. With plumage that adorned him perfectly, from the golden doublet that made his skin glow to the blue one that made his eyes stand unnaturally apart. To that damned royal red doublet that haunted Geralt’s nightmares, causing him to whip his head in its direction if he ever caught that shade from the corner of his eye in every town they passed.

“It is good to see you Jaskier.” Geralt finally said.

The bard’s face flashed through a myriad of emotions before resetting to blank, but his eyes burned with anger hot enough Geralt felt as though he should be ash.

“That’s all you have to say?” Jaskier spit out. “’It’s good to see you Jaskier?”

Geralt grit his own teeth, trying not to let the bard provoke him into a fight.

“I am sorry. What I said that day in the mountains. I didn’t mean it.”

Jaskier laughed an ugly laugh that Geralt immediately hated. That was not how Jaskier sounded. That should never be how he sounded. Hollow and resentful.

“Oh you idiotic Witcher. You did mean every word though. That is the problem. You meant exactly what you said. You believed then that I was the reason for all the misfortune that you went through, that it was because of me that you had a hard life.” Jaskier finished his cup of ale and then took the other cup and gulped it down too. He looked half-feral by the end of it. “I always only ever wanted to help you Geralt. I wanted to ensure that your life was not as difficult. Every song, every bar fight with bigoted villagers, every doublespeak with nobility to pay you the actual cost of the kill and not shortchange you. Everything I did was for you. And you repaid me grandly. Truly.”

Geralt flinched. He curled his hands into fists. Jaskier was right. The human had only ever done what he thought was best for the Witcher. Never once worked against him, or used him solely for his benefit.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did that day in the mountains. You were not the cause of my problems. I have Ciri in my life because of you. Even if you don’t particularly like her, I have Yennefer because of you.”

Jaskier did not look less angry.

“Jaskier.” Geralt sighed. He was not one for words, that had always been Jaskier. But if he wanted to keep the bard in his life, he knew he would have to talk his way into regaining his companion. He decided to be honest. “I miss you.”

“I don’t.” Jaskier said. This time, Geralt couldn’t stop the filch. “I don’t miss your patronizing tone, I don’t miss you leaving me behind while on the road in the mornings and having to catch up with you, I don’t miss your taciturn silence as though you talking to me is beneath you, and I definitely don’t miss your glares and ‘fuck off’ attitude you have had with me for so very long. I never asked for more than you could give Geralt. You think the mountain is the first time you hurt me?” At Geralt’s horrified face, Jaskier laughed cruelly again. “You have hurt me with your actions for far longer than with your words Witcher. And whatever I might actually miss about travelling with you, the reasons not to currently far outweigh whatever reasons you will undoubtedly propose to me to convince me to travel with you.”

Seeing Geralt with no retort, Jaskier nodded sharply. “Yes, that’s what I guessed. It is late. I promised my young friend I would see her in the morning.”

Jaskier moved to leave, but Geralt shot out his hand to grip his wrist. Jaskier looked back at him before shaking himself loose. “Good night Geralt.”

It sounded too much like goodbye.

///

That night, once he put away the swords and made one last round around the inn to make sure everything was quiet, he lay on his bed with the handkerchief from so long ago. After so long between his armor and the fight at Kaer Morhen, the cloth was a dull white, yet to Geralt, all he saw was the snow white tint from when he first received it. And even as he brought it to his nose to scent it, knowing full well the scent was gone, he yearned for the spark of comfort it always gave. 

He wondered if he could steal something from Jaskier before the bard left his life forever. And oh how much did that thought hurt him. The rainbow kaleidoscope the bard brought into his life, Geralt had not even noticed until faced with the bard. The hamlet seemed far more colorful now compared to when they walked into it, despite nothing having changed. Growling and prowling to his window, Geralt opened it and allowed the cold breeze to fill the room, biting into his face. Feeling real.

He had never thought to pay attention to the colours of the world, to see the beauty. He was a Witcher. His job revolved around the chaos and darkness of the world, around eliminating it. He had always been told he belonged in the same dangerous darkness he sought to make safe, too terrifying for humans to look at.

But Jaskier had never cared had he? He had seen him after a hunt, white as a ghost, black veins running across his body, eyes pitch black and other. And he had embraced him, metaphorically and literally.

He stood at the window until the silver moon was more than half done with its journey across the sky before he closed the window and tried to get some sleep.

He dreams of vivid songbirds dancing and singing from treetops bathed in sunlight.

///

Geralt spent the day studiously avoiding the tavern above which he could scent Jaskier laying around. The closest he allowed himself to get was strolling casually beneath its windows and hearing the strumming of a familiar lute drifting across the hardwood walls.

Yennefer must have said something to Ciri, because the little girl thankfully did not bring up Jaskier at all. Yennefer rolled her eyes when Geralt sent her a grateful nod.

The sun had barely set when Ciri finally could not contain her excitement at seeing Jaskier and tore across the hamlet into the tavern. Much like last night, Jaskier was at the center of the still empty tavern, though it was starting to fill up. Today, he was in a shiny blue-silver doublet and trousers, a dark grey chemise peeking out from under the open doublet.

Jaskier glanced up when their group entered the tavern, and learning from last night, braced himself against the table so he didn’t fall to the floor when Ciri crashed into him.

“Darling, oh how you are a sight for truly sore eyes.” Jaskier whispered into Ciri’s hair, still loud enough for Geralt to hear with his enhanced senses. Geralt knew he should probably at least give them the illusion of privacy, but the sight of Jaskier with his Child Surprise, with his daughter was giving him heart palpitations. Jaskier’s smile was so full of warmth and love, Geralt equally envied Ciri for being the recipient and yearned to have such a look directed at him. Especially once Jaskier caught his eyes and gave him a cold and impassive stare.

“Jask-” Geralt started only for the bard to interrupt him.

“I have a performance to start. I asked the barkeep to keep the table we sat at yesterday vacant for you three.” Jaskier stated. "Yennefer."

“It is good to see you Jaskier.” Yennefer said, for once not adding on any snide remarks. Geralt saw the clench of Jaskier’s jaw as he nodded.

By that time, the tavern had become as crowded as yesterday, and no sooner had they taken their seats that different voices started to shout out names of ballads. Jaskier laughed agreeably and quietened them with a performer’s charm.

“My dear friends, fear not, I will be here tonight for as long as you demand, I shall get to all your requests. But I had a request from a darling friend of mine, and I haven’t seen her in so very long, so if you don’t mind, I will fulfill her request first?” Jaskier said.

The crowd grumbled but grew silent when Jaskier began to strum. He launched into “The Bear and the Maidan Fair”, sending raucous cheers through the crowd as they began to keep beat with claps and boot stomping. Ciri was fully invested too, the song had always been so funny and the chorus was so catchy. Yennefer watched her fondly, smiling at the reminder than between the enormous untapped magical power and the price on her head that had her fleeing from hamlet to village to town, she was still a scared little girl who deserved every bit of fun they could give her.

It went on like that for the rest of night, hours of the bard singing song after song, never showing his exhaustion. Geralt basked in his voice, fearing this might be the last time he got to hear it, and wasn’t that the irony? He had for so long wished for Jaskier to be quiet, and here he was hoping Jaskier never stopped singing.

Jaskier danced around the tavern, pulling people out into the crowd, young girls and old men alike, inviting them to dance the jig with him until the whole tavern was filled with joy and laughter. Ciri even pulled Yennefer onto the dance floor, swinging their arms around and just letting go of their stresses for a week.

When the crowd finally dispersed, Ciri was swaying on her feet, looking ready to fall asleep standing.

After he was finished collecting all his Jaskier wordlessly walked with them to the inn.

He even helped tuck Ciri into bed. As he went to leave, Ciri grabbed his sleeve. “Dandelion, will you please come with us?”

Jaskier felt a lump in his throat. He still had so much anger and hurt from the way he had been treated by Geralt and even if unintentionally, Yennefer. Yet the one asking was this sweet little girl he had returned to see every year, the one being forced to grow up far too soon. The one he had thought dead until she blew into the inn like a miracle. The one who he saw butchered or slain when he closed his eyes.

Fuck Geralt and Yennefer. If they didn’t like him, that was their problem.

He was not going to leave her when she was asking so sincerely. Bending down to brush a soft kiss to her forehead Jaskier caressed her cheek and replied quietly “Alright princess.”

Ciri smiled at him and closed her eyes drifting off to sleep immediately. Taking a deep breath and drinking in the peaceful sight in front of him, Jaskier stood up and faced the other two in the room.

“I don’t care if neither of you want me coming with you, I am coming because Ciri asked, and honestly I have known the girl longer and am willing to bet my very lute she trusts me far more than you two. So I am going to come with you to wherever you are taking her. Any objections?” Jaskier ended, knowing full well neither would speak up.

Yennefer looked resigned to her fate, and Geralt looked shocked, but, and Jaskier hated his heart for daring to feel a spark of anything, hopeful.

“Good. We should leave tomorrow. Resupply what you need, we can leave after lunch.”

As Jaskier swept out of the room to return to his own, Geralt would swear the fire was sparking a little brighter red than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of the reunion? Is Jaskier justified in his anger?   
> Let me know!


	5. 5. His Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this early because I'll be away from my laptop till tomorrow evening and didn't want to leave you hanging!

Traveling together with Jaskier made the void Geralt had been feeling since the dragon hunt feel a little smaller but at the same time, just as deep as before. For the first few days, Jaskier barely acknowledged Geralt or Yennefer. He was also quieter than ever, though he maintained a constant stream of conversation with Ciri. He answered every question she threw at him, sometimes with outlandishly impossible answers that had her giggling. At night when they made camp, he took over cooking whatever ingredients Yennefer had bought in the previous town and whatever meat Geralt hunted.

He sang his songs, well, every song that did not have to do with Geralt in any way.

He did not touch Geralt. He did not speak to Geralt. He scarcely looked at Geralt.

Geralt wanted to shake the bard, beg him, plead for an accidental brush of their hands, a question out of habit, a peek from the corner of electric blue eyes.

But Jaskier gave him nothing. Demonstrating a mastery over his bodily reactions Geralt had not known the bard was capable of, Jaskier ignored him completely and intentionally.

Jaskier was even cordial with Yennefer, never outright cutting her with sharp words but not sparing a word that was not needed. Geralt would even venture to say they might be friends from the good-natured teasing he heard when he was out of their earshot. 

Ciri saw all this, but surprisingly, or maybe totally unsurprisingly, after all how well did Geralt actually know her, the little princess took Jaskier’s side. Or perhaps not side, but she seemed to find his actions justifiable. A few times when Geralt was returning from a hunt, she heard Jaskier and Ciri rummaging about in camp. He heard her trying to convince Jaskier to give him a second chance. Jaskier stayed quiet.

///

After nearly three weeks of traveling together, of too quiet camps, non-music filled walks through possibly enemy woods, of distances so easy to close yet so insurmountable, Geralt was at his wits end. Yennefer had portaled herself and Ciri away, claiming that she had a friend who could help her with training for Cirilla and that the princess needed to remember what a bed felt like. Geralt had a suspicion based on the pointed glare both girls sent his way that they were actually conspiring to grant him some time alone with Jaskier.

Jaskier was mute as he watched the portal closed, getting back to setting up their camp in the same efficient way he had done when once upon a time it had always been just the two of them. Geralt knew he had to be the one to talk, since Jaskier was obviously not going to.

“Jaskier, we have some spices left, and I hear a deer nearby. What do you say we have a meal with some flavor for once?” Geralt asked, wincing at his own pathetic excuse for conversation.

Jaskier just hummed noncommittally. Geralt resisted the instinct to growl or run a rough hand through his hair. Was this what he had subjected Jaskier to all these years? But he did not have the talent the bard did to draw words out of others. Much less from someone who typically could not be stopped from talking. Needless to say, Geralt was frustrated and reaching the bottom of a very shallow pool of ideas.

Which is what he chose to blame for why he completely missed the sound of a monster approaching. Night had fallen, and both were sitting on opposite sides of the camp. He was brushing Roach while enjoying the absentminded strumming of Jaskier’s lute, the bard obviously composing inside his head. Geralt finished brushing and turned, only to feel his breath catch in his throat. Jaskier was glowing by the campfire, his pale yellow doublet casting golden shadows over his delicate features, the shadows making him look all the more unearthly. He was humming something under his breath, and Geralt had to strain his ears to catch it.

Had the bard always been so… lovely?

He was so enraptured in the blue of the bard’s wide open eyes that he entirely missed the alarm in those eyes. Roach’s neighing and shove with her snout was the only reason the endrega did not behead him.

“Geralt!” Jaskier screamed. Geralt did not even have time to enjoy the sound of his name passing through his bard’s lips in nearly a month before the endrega advanced, pinning him to the ground with on of it’s claws.

Geralt freed his arms enough to quickly sign Aard and throw the monster back against a tree. That dazed the creature long enough for Geralt to dive for his silver sword. Now armed, Geralt threw himself at the monster, swinging his sword and managing to cut of one of it’s claws. The endrega retaliated by smashing into him with its mace-like tail. Geralt’s unprotected skin tore easily under the spikes in the monster’s tail. A pained groan escaped him, but his training ensured he did not drop his sword.

The monster clawed at him again, executing a sharp cut into his right shoulder.

“Hey ugly! Try this on for size!” Jaskier shouted, voice dripping with fear yet underlined with the same steel as Geralt’s sword. When Geralt rolled his eyes in his direction, he saw Jaskier holding said sword, arms shaking with the weight but keeping the sword steady. Geralt vaguely recalled Jaskier saying he was nobility, he would have been taught the sword. Or at least fencing. His stance looked firm even if the sword didn't.

The creature snarled before dropping Geralt against the tree and advancing towards Jaskier. Just as Geralt feared that he was going to watch his bard get eviscerated, Jaskier threw something into the fire between him and the creature, making the fire roar up before transforming into a thick green cloud.

Geralt coughed as the smoke enveloped him thoroughly, grimacing as he pressed his abdominal wound closed. On the other side of the fire he could hear the creature screaming and screeching before steel sang through the cacophony and the noise cut off abruptly.

He was still coughing when a pain of hands grabbed him from below his shoulders. He yelled but the body behind him did not stop until they were clear of the camp and the smoke. Geralt was breathing hard and pale as the moon that shone through the trees when Jaskier deposited him against a tree.

Through the haze he saw a cut on the bard’s upper arm, but Jaskier brushed away his arm and cut open Geralt’s shirt with the small knife he always kept on him. He swore when he saw the extent of the bruising. Pressing firmly, he guessed at least two broken ribs, possibly three based on the volume of Geralt's groans.

“Damn it Geralt. Wait here. I will be right back, I need to find your potions.” Jaskier complained as he rose, only to yelp when Geralt yanked him back towards him, nearly sending the both toppling into the forest floor.

“Ow you bastard, I am only trying to help!”

“You… are…hurt…” Geralt rasped.

“Yes and you pulling me by the arm that was injured is not going to exactly make it better now is it?”

“Monster…”

“Is dead. Or at least it better be, the thing was in two pieces last I saw it. Plus we left poor Roach and my precious lute at the camp. Let me go check on them!” Jaskier said.

Geralt groaned but relented. Jaskier stumbled as he was suddenly released but stood up and tugged his doublet into place. “Thank you. I will be right back. Just… try not to get killed will you?”

Saying so, Jaskier disappeared between the tree lines. Geralt groaned again as he closed his eyes and lets his head thump back against the tree. Tonight had not gone at all as he had wanted.

True to his word though, Jaskier came back to where Geralt was, loud enough to wake the forest.

Cursing as he nearly tripped over a root he didn’t see, Jaskier dropped beside Geralt.

“Ok I have all your potions here. What do you want?” Jaskier asked, holding up Geralt’s potion bag. Geralt winced as he shifted against the tree, pretending to do so to get more comfortable and not because this way, Jaskier was leaning more heavily onto him.

“Dark green one. And clear potion in the square vial.” Geralt grit out.

Jaskier rooted around the bag before crowing victoriously as he held out his prize, quickly uncorking the two potions and helping Geralt swallow them. Geralt hissed as he felt the potions rushing through his veins, but settled as his healing was further boosted by the potions.

“Use my tunic.” Geralt slurred. Jaskier looked up confused from where had settled into Geralt’s side.

“What?”

“You are bleeding. Use my tunic. It is ripped.”

“Oh.” Jaskier said. He looks at his own injury, the wound a graze that has almost stopped bleeding. Deciding not to argue with the Witcher for once, he did as told and ripped up the shirt, wrapping the make-shift bandages around his upper arm. with the left over cloth, he wrapped them around Geralt so as to make sure the open wounds did not get infected. 

They stayed like that for another moment until Geralt grunted and tried to shift.

“Come on, let’s get back to camp.”

“Are you sure? Can you walk?”

“Jaskier. It is cold and I don't have a shirt. We will both freeze overnight.” Geralt growled.

“Fine, fine off we go to the camp with the dead monster, why not?” Jaskier said as he placed an arm around Geralt’s waist and let the Witcher lean his weight on him as the two made their way back to camp.

Jaskier had Geralt sit back against the tree that Roach was still tied to while he went and reignited the fire that had almost been put out during the fight.

Geralt tried to push away Roach when the horse started to nibble on his hair, patting her nose to comfort her.

The endrega was lying several feet ahead of him, cleaved clumsily in half, his steel sword embedded haphazardly in it's abdomen. Jaskier was quiet as he set about cleaning the campsite, giving the monster’s corpse a wide berth.

“Should we be worried of more of those things coming after us?”

Geralt grunted. “Endregas are solitary creatures.”

“Oh small comfort I guess. Anything else going to attack us while we sleep?”

“No.”

“You sound confident.”

“If something comes for us, I will stop it.”

“Geralt I know I say…used to say you could defeat monsters in your sleep, but I didn’t actually mean it.”

“I am not going to sleep. You sleep.” Geralt bit back, trying to cover the hurt from Jaskier’s correction.

Geralt could make out a vein in Jaskier’s forehead, which was new, and he knew the timing was awful, but he found it equally amusing and adorable.

Jaskier took a deep breath and exhaled it before sitting in front of Geralt. Geralt felt oddly cornered with no escape. Which actually wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

“What was your plan?”

“Plan?”

“Plan for whatever you wanted to do without the girls around. And don’t insult my intelligence by saying us being left alone was not planned.” Jaskier said.

Geralt swallowed. The bard perpetually surprised him with his perceptiveness. He sighed.

“I told Yennefer to take Ciri it would be nice to have a couple nights for just us so we could have a chance to talk. So I could apologize.”

Jaskier groaned before mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘stupid Witchers with skulls thicker than the mountains they get thrown against’.

Jaskier sat up from his slump and sat closer to Geralt, making his heart beat tick up. So close, Geralt felt like he would burn from the intensity of the gaze that seemed to pierce right to his soul.

“Before you start apologizing, I want to say that you're an idiot.”

“Hmm.”

“And I kind of hate you right now.”

Geralt flinched internally but kept his face blank. “I understand.”

“No you don’t you self-loathing bastard. I regret the 22 years that I spent with you.”

Geralt bit the inside of his cheek. Was this how Jaskier had felt when Geralt had screamed at him on that mountain that accursed day? Like his heart was being ripped to shreds, and his world was becoming darker with each passing breath? How had the bard ever found it in him not to chase Geralt out of his life in that village? But Geralt heard the slight change in Jaskier’s heartbeat and held on to it like a life line.

“That's not tru-”

Jaskier cut him off. “Okay, that's a lie. But you've really hurt me, Geralt.”

Geralt had a feeling that the expression on Jaskier’s face was yet another that would haunt him in his nightmares, in addition to his face on the dragon mountain and that stupid doppler that stole Jaskier’s visage.

Geralt weighed his words carefully before speaking. He was walking on a tightrope and he had this sharp feeling in his gut that if he messed up this conversation, he would never get his bard back. “I... I know. I'm sorry. You... You didn't deserve any of it.”

“Keep going.”

“You've always been good to me... You're the reason people don't hate me anymore... You were by my side when nobody else was.” Geralt verbalized slowly.

“Glad you finally noticed that, but it doesn't really sound like an apology.”

Geralt clenched his fist. Jaskier was making this unnecessarily difficult. But this was a problem that could only be solved with words not steel or silver or grunts and looming appearances.

Closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see Jaskier’s face, Geralt inhaled deeply and laid his heart out for him.

“I'm sorry I didn't appreciate it. I was a fool. Now I get it. You were always kind, thoughtful, loyal. All you wanted in return was to go on adventures and find inspiration for your songs. I should have respected that. But all I did was treat you as a nuisance and a bother. When you might be the only true friend I have had who chose to be my friend out of his own free will and not because you had a duty to put up with me or were tied to my by something.” Geralt finished, gasping. His hands were so tightly clenched he could feel his nails making crescent indentations into the rough skin of his palm.

Jaskier stayed quiet in front of him. When he pried his eyes open, and hesitantly looked up, the bard was sitting in front of him with a stunned expression and a gaping mouth.

“Jaskier?”

No response.

Geralt tentatively released one hand and barely brushed it on Jaskier’s hand before the bard seemed to crash back into reality.

Geralt and Jaskier froze, hardly daring to breathe. The millimeter of skin Geralt had pressed against the bard felt as though it was on fire.

Jaskier finally gasped out a soft “Oh, you idiot.”

Geralt hardly got the words “What did I say-” before the bard was crashing into him. Geralt tensed up for a minute before feeling all his stress melt away in the bard’s arms. He wrapped both arms around Jaskier and pressed the bard in close, burying his nose into soft brown hair that smelled of sweat and faintly, lavender. In his current position, Jaskier was practically straddling Geralt, his body a line of heat that warmed Geralt to his core.

Jaskier sobbed into his ear “You idiot. Geralt... I... Yes, I wanted those things, but it wasn't what mattered. I... All I ever wanted was you.”

Geralt felt a lump in throat, his heart matching the wild thumping of Jaskier’s own. Today had started off as a nightmare where he had been sure he was going to loose the bard, and now Jaskier was telling him, what? That he…cared for Geralt?

Geralt whispered, scared that if he said the words any louder this moment would break, or worse he would find out it had all been an illusion “All these years... Don't take this the wrong way, but I thought that this was... I thought that once you satisfied yourself, got all the songs and stories you needed out of me, I mean-” Geralt grunted tightening his arms around Jaskier’s waist as he mulled on what to say. “I thought you will get bored with me eventually. I didn't think that you'd… that you might have feelings for me. Beyond friendship. Or companionship. And it is fine if that is all you feel for me Jaskier. I just want to travel with you again. I… I have missed you far too much.” He confessed, his secret out now, no longer weighing him or eating at him.

Jaskier stayed quiet once again, and Geralt feared he had once again said the wrong thing. He loosened his arms even as every muscle in his body was screaming at him to hold on and never let go. Jaskier smelled of confusion, and underlying it was his personal scent of honey and sunshine.

Geralt was so focused on his own thoughts he nearly missed Jaskier’s faint voice

“Feelings? For... How long?”

Geralt tried to suppress the hope blooming in his chest at Jaskier’s own hopeful words, no disgust or rejection in them.

Shrugging, Geralt said “Give or take five to six years.”

Jaskier jaw opened and closed a few times as he lip synched Geralt’s admission before unexpectedly punching him in the arm with the injury.

Geralt groaned. “What was that for?

“Shit sorry. But seriously? Five to six YEARS? You unbelievable idiot, Geralt why the hell would you not tell me?”

Geralt shrugged again, barely not wincing as the movement jostled his injured shoulder.

“You- oh, oh you just-” Jaskier sputtered, slapping his own forehead before pinching his nose. “Ok listen to me you thick-skulled buffoon. I am in love with you. 1000% gone on you. Pining after you so bad the whole continent could see it.”

Now it was Geralt’s turn to gape. He let out a strangled “What?”

Jaskier’s shoulders slumped. “Geralt, we are not made for monogamy. I know that. We have had far too many paramours to pretend otherwise. But do you know why Yennefer was always the one that got under my skin?” At Geralt’s silence, Jaskier continued “She was the one who had a chance. God Geralt, look at her. She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen in my life, she is terrifying and powerful, and knows what she wants. She is as immortal as you.” Jaskier’s voice was frail for his next declaration. “How could a mere bard stand up to all that?

Jaskier’s head dropped, and he wrung his hands until Geralt covered them with one of his, the other cupping Jaskier’s jaw and setting his every nerve on fire.

“How long?”

Jaskier whispered “From the moment I met you.” Geralt spied a few tears gathering in Jaskier’s eyes. “Gods. I can't believe it. So much wasted time…”

“Guess we're both idiot.” Geralt offered before pulling Jaskier in closer until they could feel the other’s breath on each other’s faces. “Can I kiss you?”

Jaskier’s breath hitched before he nodded. Unable to wait another second, Geralt closed the gap between them.

It was a simple kiss, just a press of rough lips against dry ones, but both men felt a joy foreign to them flood them and threaten to drown them. They broke to merely gulp a breath before diving into a second kiss that was far more passionate.

As both men fell back against the tree, uncaring of the rough bark, Roach snorted something that had they been paying attention could almost have been interpreted as “Fucking finally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think of the chapter? Did you like how they got together? Was it in character?


	6. +1 Jaskier's Songs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we go, I hope you find it a smooth landing. Let me know what you think of the ending, favorite lines or parts from any point in the fic, or just scream at me. I'm be eagerly waiting to hear your responses!

Yennefer and Ciri had been shamelessly smug when they portalled into the campsite the next day only to find Geralt and Jaskier rolled into a single bedroll, dead to the world. Ciri’s squeal had startled Geralt, who had rolled out of the roll and had a dagger pointed at the two girls before he realized who he was threatening.

“You know Geralt, you are not nearly as dangerous looking with bedhair.” Yennefer drawled, amusement flooding her face.

Ciri giggled behind her hands, face alight with delight.

Jaskier gave a dramatic groan and fell back onto the roll, and when Geralt looked back at him, he saw the bard was laying in his chemise one arm thrown over his eyes. He did look delightfully bed rumpled. Geralt spared a thought of thanks to whoever had allowed them to keep their minds enough not to lose their clothes. And for Jaskier convincing him to put on another tunic. With Geralt’s injury, they had only managed some heavy petting and a delightfully long period of exchanging kisses. But Geralt could not remember the last time he slept as well as with Jaskier in his arms.

“It is too damn early for this!” Jaskier drawled.

“Too bad, get your ass up and ready for the day bard, the next town is at the bottom of this hill, we should get there by noon.”

Jaskier removed his hand and propped himself up on his elbows. “We are going into town? Why? I thought you and Ciri resupplied with your friend?”

Yennefer shrugged. “Yes, but she is a wallflower who lives in the middle of nowhere. We need to know where Nilfgaard is. Which means we need gossip. So: town.”

Jaskier grumbled but rolled over and got up, starting to pack up the campsite. Geralt still stood where he had, watching the bard, and missed Ciri approaching until the girl threw her arms around Geralt’s waist. Geralt stumbled for a step before pulling the girl in for a side hug. She smelled of contentment and happiness, and Geralt wanted to roll in that scent.

“How was the field trip cub?” Geralt rumbled.

Two bright blue eyes met amber ones as the girl nodded before burying herself into his side again. “It was fun!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at that, before looking at Yennefer who smirked unhelpfully.

“I’m really happy.”

“What was that cub?”

“I’m really happy you finally told Dandelion how you feel Geralt. You both deserve to not be sad anymore!”

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat before beating harder. He embraced Ciri properly before whispering into her hair. “Thank you cub. I am feeling much happier now.”

When he heard a choked off noise, he looked up to find Jaskier standing next to Roach, emanating so much fondness, Geralt thought he would be a puddle on the forest floor.

Yennefer cleared her throat. “Well this is getting far too mushy for my tastes. Bard are you done?”

“I am doing this all by myself, how am I supposed to be done?” Jaskier scowled.

With that, the moment dissolved into familiar bickering between the make-shift family and they quickly finished packed up the camp and were on the road.

///

The tavern in the town was surprisingly lively, most likely due to the unexpected thawing that cleared the snow of the ground for the first time that season. People were out and about, dancing and enjoying the good weather before they are driven back inside by the frost. Jaskier was singing a fantastically bawdy rendition of one of his comical songs about a king who got cursed with donkey hooves for hands after he got handsy with the wrong sorceress.

Ciri was up and dancing with Jaskier, going in circles around him. The village children had been shy to approach her at first until one brave girl introduced herself, and then they had become fast friends in the way only kids can manage. For the last hour the kids had been Jaskier’s volunteer dancing troupe.

Geralt couldn't fully hide his smile at the sight of them all.

“Is that a smile on THE Geralt of Rivia’s face? My, and I thought I had seen it all.” Yennefer drawled, and when Geralt swung to see her, her violet eyes were glinting with amusement.

“Fuck off Yennefer.”

“And miss this show?”

Geralt growled.

Yennefer laughed before holding up her hands.

In this small town deep in the Aerdinian forests, and news of Nilfgaard had been so scarce. Still, Yennefer did not want to take chances so she had illusioned Geralt and Ciri’s locks to match Jaskier’s dark hair, and Geralt’s amber eyes into a more muted brown.

For one afternoon, they took the too rare luxury of spending an afternoon without fear.

“It is good to hear them laugh so freely.” Geralt finally said as Jaskier finished his song and launched into ‘Toss a Coin’ at the behest of a rowdy public. Geralt bit back a groan.

Yennefer’s smirk softened to a smile as she watched the crowd too. Ciri had become a daughter to her, and against Geralt’s expectations, Yennefer was a good mother.

“Did you and your bard have a proper talk?”

“Hmm.”

An exasperated noise. “Did your talk include any words on your part.”

She made it too easy sometimes.

“Hmm.”

Yennefer shot him an annoyed look before finishing her drink and standing up. "I’m going to rescue the bard so he can take a break."

“What are you going to do?” Geralt asked.

Yennefer bared her teeth. “Magic.”

Geralt watched her go, the sway of her hips followed by at least three quarters of the men in the tavern as she pressed a kiss into Jaskier’s cheek and whispered in his ear. Jaskier looked in his direction, smirking at him before conceding the floor to Yennefer with an exaggerated bow.

“What to know what Yen told me?” Jaskier asked, grin only able to be called ‘shit-eating’.

“Not really.”

Jaskier laughed. 

Jaskier slid into the seat Yennefer had just vacated and swiped Geralt’s mug of ale from his hands.

“She said you were brooding and smiling at the same time and it was a sight to behold. She wasn’t fully wrong.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“My dear Witcher, brooding is about 85% of your personality.”

At Geralt’s glare, Jaskier’s grin just got wider.

"Since when are you two friends?"

"Since we bonded while you were away on a hint about what a bastard you are." Jaskier responded cheerfully. 

Geralt did not pout. He was a Witcher. Jaskier still choked on his ale though. 

A loud gasp ceased all noise in the tavern as everyone’s attention turned to the center of the building, where Yennefer was creating animals out of smoke for all the little children around her who started squealing and shrieking with glee.

“She is a good mother.” Jaskier said.

“Yes.”

“You’re a good father.”

At that, Geralt looked at him, only to see Jaskier’s attention was still completely absorbed by the magic show.

“I missed you.”

That got Jaskier to look at him.

“You mentioned that before.”

Geralt shook his head. This small pocket of safety was making his tongue loose. Or that might just be the ale. “It was harder to notice once Ciri found me, I was so focused on getting us to safety, and it was only at night after she went to sleep that I had a chance to notice you not being there and how it felt like something essential was missing. But before, when it was just me? I started to hate the quiet, your touch, your colours. I was so lost without you I let a do-”

Geralt cut himself off when he realized what he was about to say, but Jaskier could beat a bloodhound when he desired.

“Let what?”

Geralt sighed. It was going to come out at some point. “There was a doppler, a few weeks after we- after I forced you to leave. It sounded just like you. It looked just like you. And it pretended to be hurt, it cried out for _me_ in _your_ voice. I followed it, ignoring my medallion, ignoring every instinct in my body because what if it was you? It nearly killed me.”

Jaskier sat stunned by the admission.

Then, softly “Where was the doppler?”

A little thrown by the question, Geralt thought for a minute. “Kaedwan I think.”

Jaskier blanched.

“What is it Jaskier?” Geralt asked sharply.

“I met that doppler.”

“What?” Geralt growled.

“I was going through some woods in Kaedwan, the pickings in the town nearby had been slim, and I couldn’t afford an inn, so I decided to try to get to the next town quickly. Unfortunately, there was that bout of rain, and I had to take a break, so I was only halfway through my journey when night fell. I found a clearing and made camp. I remember falling asleep, and I remember waking up, but I could not recollect my night at all. I knew something was strange, but I just dismissed the feeling and started working again. I was maybe 10 minutes back on the road when I hear this wheezing behind me, and when I turned around saw this old man several feet behind me I swear I had not seen at all. I went to help him, but the moment I entered his personal space, the man had me pinned to a tree. His eyes were black, and hungry. I was so sure I was going to die. You saved me though.” Jaskier paused, eyes still distant, lost to his memory.

“I saved you?”

“Hmm. I was able to reach the small dagger you insisted I carry with me that you always stashed in my lute case. I stabbed him in the shoulder I think, and when he dropped me, I gave him a strong kick to his stomach and ran as fast as I could. I never knew what he was, I just knew it couldn’t have been a human.”

The two men stayed quiet at this new insight.

Another shriek from the center got their peripheral glance, showing Ciri was now helping Yen grow flowers? Something that involved a lot of colours and the faint scent of gooseberries.

“There was one thing I never missed about you though.” Geralt said, breaking their silence.

Jaskier snorted. “Oh yeah, what was that?”

“Your influence.”

At Jaskier’s confused look, Geralt’s lips quirked upward. “You walked by my side for over two decades Jask. With that infernal ‘Toss a coin’ song along with several dozen songs about me. Even if you weren’t by my side, your songs followed me on my journey. Mostly they made the guilt so much stronger. But somedays, they were one of my last connections to you. And I would just stay and listen. It was never as good as when you performed it though.”

“One of?” Jaskier asked, because if he focused on any of the other parts of that particular statement he was either going to lose his mind or throw himself at the Witcher in the middle of the packed tavern.

Geralt’s ears turned slightly pink. Jaskier was losing the battle with his restraint to keep himself on this side of the table.

Slowly, Geralt reached up into his neck and pulled a something out and dropped it on the table. Watching Geralt’s face, Jaskier reached for the object. A rag?

Except when Jaskier spread it out, he realized exactly what it was. The handkercheif he has used as a bandage on Geralt a couple days before the dragon hunt. 

“Where?”

“You had given it to me to hold onto for something. It held your scent for a long while.” Geralt’s cheeks started to turn pink. “I made sure of it.”

Screw restrain and public decency. Jaskier was on the other side of the booth in a flash, straddling the Witcher uncomfortably against the narrow space between the table that was digging into his back, and Geralt’s rough leather armor. None of that mattered to Jaskier though, who threw his arms around kissed Geralt rough and sweet simultaneously. By the time they broke for air, half the tavern was cat calling them, and when they glanced at the center, they saw Yennefer leading the children out of the tavern. Ciri looked backward and shot them a winning smile before disappearing behind the sorceress.

Jaskier started giggling before it morphed into a chuckle and then a full bellied laugh as he tried to muffle it against Geralt’s neck and shook from the force of it.

Geralt could not contain his own embarrassment, shaking his head as he tucked his nose into the bard’s hair.

“What do you say we make use of the room we rented upstairs?”

Jaskier beamed at him. “That’s the best thing you have said all day my love.”

If the Witcher's heart skipped a beat, no one was the wiser. 

And as Jaskier slid out of his lap and skipped his way to their room, he left an astonished Witcher in his wake.

It was only Jaskier disappearing up the stairs that prompted Geralt upstairs, a feral smile on his face.

///

Jaskier’s scent now flooded all of Geralt’s clothes, seeming into the seams with how often the bard stole them claiming they were more comfortable to sleep in.

Jaskier’s voice lulled him to sleep every night nowadays, his calloused fingers brushing through moon-silver hair.

Jaskier’s touch was soft and kind, a balm that healed his wounds better than any of Yennefer’s potions.

Jaskier’s colours painted the world into a canvas of hues. A new cloak for Ciri. Jewels for Yennefer embedded in subtle silver. Ribbons of every shade in the rainbow for Roach’s mane. A dozen snow-white handkerchiefs doused with Jaskier’s scent for Geralt.

Jaskier’s friendship blossomed into so much more, rooting itself deep in Geralt’s heart and entwining itself so deeply with Geralt, it was not possible to separate them anymore.

And most importantly, Geralt never had to miss Jaskier’s presence in his life for very long anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Thank you so much to everyone who has been commenting and letting me know their thoughts, it has been absolutely lovely to wake up to your comments. And thank you to everyone who subscribed and left kudos, I really enjoyed working on this piece, and I am so glad so many of you have liked it.   
> I have no plans for a follow-up for this, but I am trying to write more fic, so if any of you have any prompts, send them, and I'll see if I can use them!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my story, I hope you enjoyed it!  
> Please let me know what you thought, what your favorite line was, or just keyboard smash if you prefer that.  
> You can find me at fangirlshrewt97.tumblr.com if you want to chat!


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